


Cole's Kittens

by SOMNlARl



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Just Add Kittens, M/M, No seriously this is diabetes of the soul inducing fluff, Ridiculous, What is this I can't even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen is not a cat person.  Except when he is.</p><hr/><p>I had to do it.  I'm so sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cole's Kittens

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this comic by NinjaShira](http://imgur.com/a/2d29N?gallery). I can resist anything _except_ temptation. Shoutout to Mander for naming Cullen's childhood mabari.
> 
> Talk Cullrian with me on [tumblr](http://xhermionedanger.tumblr.com). Or prompt me. Whatever.

When Cole finds a litter of orphaned kittens Cullen doesn’t think much of it. Helping, that’s what the boy always does and yes, even this time he helps regardless of the fact that his charges aren’t human. They’re hurting, their mother missing and he has to find a way to help before their pain becomes overwhelming. It's not as easy with kittens though and the boy's concern quickly escalates into actual distress which summons the Inquisitor, she always has had a soft spot for Cole. Always willing to oblige him Mirien seems more than happy to whisk them away to her quarters save for the tiny calico he saw Varric slip beneath his shirt, a trail of runners following behind her to feed and care for them, doe-eyed, charmed by their oversized ears and paws and the tiny cries they make when they’re wanting for attention. He’s never entirely understood the appeal of cats - selfish things, happy to take what they want but promising nothing in return unless it is on their own terms - but even he has to admit they are cute, as long as he’s not required to be responsible for them. He has more than enough on his plate with helpless recruits barely able to lift a blade let alone block a blow with a shield - he hardly needs baby animals as well. 

He’s patient with his troops, as patient as he can be. Truth be told, most days that is not especially patient at all but he works hard to keep his men from seeing his frustration. He tries his best to remember that these skills hardly came naturally to him at first, that he spent his entire youth stumbling through these same manoeuvres. He was allowed years to make mistakes and eventually make the movements his own but these men and women have just weeks, perhaps only days, before they may be called upon to give their lives to the Inquisition. Their devotion to their chosen cause is no less than his was to the Templar Order, even if he has now abandoned it for something greater. He supposes even the kittens, once weaned, will work for the cause as well. There are always mice and rats to chase at Skyhold and insects for those not yet ready for rodents. They too can serve. 

It’s only mid-morning but he is standing behind his desk, fighting off a headache that reaches from behind his eyes down to the pit of his stomach, pulsing with every flicker of the candles. He’s in just his leathers and a soft wool tunic, his usual armor too stifling and heavy especially as it seems he’s going to be trapped inside. A man’s work is never done he thinks, no matter how loudly a nap beckons and he is going through reports from yesterday’s meetings when he hears light footsteps outside of his door. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck absentmindedly and sips at the elfroot tea that he’s been given to combat the pain, pulling a face at the bitterness of it. A quick knock rings out against the wood, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Come” he calls, expecting one of Leliana’s people with yet another stack of reports and letters that require answering or perhaps the Inquisitor. Mirien had grown rather fond of visiting him at all hours, asking for updates, making polite but probing conversation and he could hardly say no to the last great hope for Thedas. He supposes that she too had little enough time to plan and had to strong-arm visits where she could rather than making them when they were convenient for everyone. 

He is most definitely _not_ expecting Dorian, especially not at this time of day. Not that he didn’t always hope that Dorian would cross his doorstep. He did - although he was still not entirely sure what they were to each other. Lovers perhaps, or simply a convenient interlude from their daily routines, a momentary diversion. A distraction from the suffocating ache of withdrawal, from family strife, from the ever present fear that none of them, even Cole’s kittens, would make it through the day. Corypheus could attack at any moment and while they were certainly better prepared here than they had been at Haven he would be hard-pressed to state with any certainty that they were ready to make a stand against him and his red templar army. 

So of course it was Dorian who walked through the door. Dorian with a rather unexpected, furry interloper clinging to his armor. 

“A cat. One of Cole's. What’s its name?” he asks, eyeing the mewling ball of black and grey fur draped across Dorian’s chest which was kneading at the knots at the shoulder of his armor, just below where it gave way to bare, tanned skin, with more than just a hint of suspicion. He's just being polite, making conversation, it's not as though he actually cares.

“Dorian of course!” The mage presses his nose into the kitten’s neck, murmuring the sort of nonsense syllables people always speak to animals into its fur. 

“You named the beast after yourself” he says flatly. 

“Have you seen this marvelous creature? Noted his charm and exquisite taste in character? What else could his name possibly be?” Dorian reaches a hand around to stroke at the kitten’s forehead, just between its ears. It starts to cry a small mew, ending in a yawn, stretching one paw out beyond the mage’s shoulder. 

“You’ll confuse it” he protests, backing away almost imperceptibly. “How do you expect it to know when it is being called if you might be the one being summoned instead?”

“Really! Have you ever met a cat before? They don’t come when you call them, Cullen. I realize you probably imagine yourself proudly as one of the Fereldan dog lords of old but they’re nothing like mabari, slavishly searching for your affection and approval.” 

It’s true, he has always felt more comfortable around dogs, he realizes. They were simple, good judges of character and fiercely loyal. He’d had a favorite mabari growing up - Grace - a beautiful brindle who had followed him everywhere. She had always known friend from foe, growling and snapping at one and sniffing happily at another until their hand came down to pet the ridge between her eyes - a pity life wasn’t quite so simple now. He’d found her still close to newborn with her eyes just barely open, trapped on the edges of the lake in a tangle of blood lotus roots. He’d carried her home, wrapped in his coat, and worried at his mother until she showed him how to hand-feed a baby animal. He’d dipped his fingers in milk for her to lap at the droplets until she was sated enough to finally fell asleep for weeks upon weeks, until she was old enough to wait for her meals of table scraps and the occasional small animal he managed to spear upon his sword. Mia had brought home several kittens (as well as countless injured birds, frogs, mice and once even a fennec) but he had always wormed his way out of caring for them, forcing his brothers to assist instead. They were too small, too needy, too easily damaged by clumsy fingers. 

“You won’t break him. Give him a pet.” Suddenly Dorian’s voice was close, the mage had moved silently across the room and was standing at his side, long, nimble fingers teasing at the base of his neck where the pain always came to rest. Dorian’s lips were hot against his skin, pressing kisses across the line of his jaw, then chastely across his lips. Dorian did always seem know how to help, perhaps that was why he and Cole got along so well. 

“So, ah, this cat. He’s staying with Cole, I presume?” His fingers find their way up to the kitten’s chin, rubbing small circles in its fur, hesitantly at first until the movement becomes second nature. Purring, it stretches its neck out towards him and he is charmed into scratching it lightly behind its ears. 

“Well, no. It’s more _our_ cat, really. Given how much time we’ve been spending together recently. And Cole thinks you _need_ a cat, Commander. In his own delightfully cryptic way he made that quite clear.”

“I do not need a cat. I don’t even like…” he stops suddenly, his brow furrowing as he thinks back to Dorian’s words. “Wait, _our cat_? This sounds like some sort of odd, foreign precursor to marriage. Are we engaged now? Are engagement kittens a tradition in Tevinter?” he protests jokingly but without any real struggle left in him. He moves his hand down the kitten’s back to stroke down its spine, its purr rumbling against his fingertips. Strange that something so small could make such a noise but if the last few months have taught him anything it's to never be surprised. If this is some bizarre Tevinter custom then he supposes there is no escaping it. Not that he would put up much of a fight if any if left to his own devices. He finds that there’s something incredibly relaxing about the little creature, the nagging ache behind his eyes dissipates as he runs his fingers through its fur, tracing the stripes on its back, and the muscles in his shoulders relax bit by bit until he can move without caution. 

“Marriage!” Dorian laughs, a lilting, rippling sound that Cullen thinks he might drown in. He loves how quickly laughter comes to the mage, joy always bubbling close under the surface, on the verge of spilling over. “Sadly no, Commander, not that I would necessarily disapprove mind you. In fact I adore your old-fashioned sentimentality, but offering cats to one's’ lover is hardly a Tevinter betrothal custom - no blood magic, child sacrifice or ritual murder, you know. Dorian here is merely ours to raise until he is ready to join the rest of his brethren, stalking rats and mice across our magnificent fortifications.” 

Dorian - the small, fluffy one, not his Dorian, although he supposes he rather has two Dorians now if the creature has become partly his responsibility - is nuzzling at his fingertips and without thinking he plucks the kitten up and curls it against his chest as he sits down in the chair. _Maker’s breath, this is going to get confusing_ he thinks to himself. It looks up at him curiously, examining him unblinkingly with enormous amber eyes and then it yawns and reaches up to bump its head against his chin, rubbing the side of its face against his stubble. 

* * *

“I thought you didn’t like cats,” Dorian is leaning against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, a knowing smirk across his face. 

“I don’t.”

“Then perhaps you could explain to me why you have been whispering nonsense at him with a vacant grin on your face for the last few minutes? Oh, and to answer your question, he is indeed a very ‘pretty kitty’ although I rather think you answered that question yourself. Yes, you did.”

Dorian's voice is just slightly mocking but entirely without malice.

Cullen feels the color rushing to his face but he’s smiling, still stroking at the kitten’s velvet ears. He tickles the soft fur on its chest softly, grinning as it mews plaintively and stretches, raising its oversized paws above its head. 

“I suppose I might be willing to make an exception for this one. He is clearly, after all, a feline of most discerning taste.”

He stands and hands him back to Dorian, pausing to give it one last rub between its ears, then turns back to the chair and spreads his cloak out over the seat. The mage sets the kitten down gently, watching as it bats at the fur before turning several times, chasing at its own swishing tail. He curls into a ball and snuggles deep into the folds of the fabric. 

" _Our cat_ indeed" Dorian laughs again, softer this time to avoid waking the now sleeping ball of fur beneath them. "Why do I have a feeling that I'll never see little Dorian again unless I drag myself all the way across Skyhold to your quarters?"

Now Cullen is laughing as well. "An excellent strategy to get you in my rooms more often; and here I thought I was supposed to be the tactician, not you. I suppose it's obvious that his future as a roaming barn cat may be in danger at present." He is sure that Dorian knows he is already planning where the cat might sleep, he has an extra pillow he might turn into a bed for him. 

"You are nothing if not both full of surprises and also incredibly predictable, Commander. It's one of many things that I utterly adore about you."


End file.
